Tag Archives: All Orange^*+^^+

May 30, 2021 · 3:51 pm

loop

From the top it looked like 2 giant, naval style oranges frantically trying to merge. But from the bottom: 2 dancers (with All Orange highlighted), obviously having a good time with their parachutes.

Where did they drop in from?

“Questions,” warned W, still observing from somewhere nearby, perhaps behind that palm tree with the woody woodpecker pecking up the wrong, Yelloo upward.

“More dancers nearby,” spoke observing George now, hidden at the bottom of his small pool. Big George, small pool. A Lake he just proclaimed it ironically enough, but more firmly aligning himself with TILE. MUST STUDY.

“Channeler,” I observed myself. “TILE.”

—–

And now: correct upwards.

“Oh, I know. Blue blue blue!” George cried, knowing we were one short in that category. But which one? Michigan: above and beyond them both. The 26th. Where was this photo-novel, 26 in a series of something, taking us?

I could feel W frowning behind that left-behind tree.

Younger George now: “I always wanted to play this game. Richochet.” He tosses another marble, perhaps a blue.

“This is your time, George. Enjoy the game! Soon you will be 13 again and forget about all this.”

“No I won’t!” he protested to the big eye, and gathered up what he tossed while marking the spot of the furthest marble for future reference.

“We are almost done here, George. It’s time to find your future place in the spheres.”

“I won’t let you down!”

Back down.

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May 22, 2021 · 8:06 am

tit for tat

George stood on 97/97 and looked at the picture of the couple and thought about All Orange. He grew maybe 6 inches overnight thinking about the thing. He was in danger of being absorbed, 13 to 10 to 13 and back and back and back, over and over. Duncan Avocado needed to keep a better eye out on him, but he had his own, rather similar problems. Tulips. How did they move that way? Why is that one red and why is that one over there purple but in the same bunch? And the rats. Don’t get him started about the rats. They make the stems, leaves and flowers move in mysterious, dark ways. He wonders if there are any rats in the Fortress — probably are, he rationalizes. And if not, maybe something else.

Markers. Must – place – markers.

—–

“How old are you?” Duncan queried about the lateness for dinner over the phone.

“13,” George admitted, and thought about the added height. How to get rid of it? How to convince Duncan A. he was still just an innocent boy at the heart of it all.

“Get – home.” Duncan hung up. He knew George was nearby. Phone service was spotty in the countryside, and George’s voice rang clear as an Alexander Graham Bell. Probably visited that gallery, hmph, he thought. Stood on the site of the former black hole and let it have its way, dark powers still tappable. 13 to 10 to 13 and on and on, spiraling out of control. He felt his own heart, and realized that innocence lost is innocence lost. For everyone except George.

(to be continued)

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May 13, 2021 · 8:32 am

flagged

The first thing they saw was an angel heralding them in — or out. “Duncan is good,” said one to the other. “He knows what to see when it looks back at him.” The other didn’t respond, waiting for something better.

—–

“Ahh yes, that’s much better today Mrs. Fox,” says airport assistant vice manager for human interactions Stephan Spaceboy, checking the weight board.

“Miss,” she says. “Actually: Ms.”

“As you wish, *Ms.* Fox. Now. What can I do you for?” Stephan taps his foot nervously against the floor under the desk. Return visits by avatars usually mean trouble. It means they are looking for something. Or somebody.

“Yes, I think I’m ready to talk about Pink again. I hear…”

“… she’s here, yes.” Stephan tries to act casual while looking away from her. He glances out the office window in what he knows is the direction of Pink’s lair, as he calls it. Who is she with now? He doesn’t want to know.

—–

In her own office not 100 meters away to the south, Pink was asleep at her desk, dreaming she was young and, well, alive again. Tom Banks had brought her a vase of flowers, saying he was sorry he had to kill her but it was his role in life. Similarly dead Frankie “Beige” Brown sat across from her, giggling at the conjunction of Pink and Tulip outside on the plane and inserting, “Lips are like one pink,” between snickers. Going further back in time, Doogie Martin was staring at a snow filled tv he’d just mounted on the wall and mumbling something about Aspinwall. It was all being swept away in the (white) noise, all the sorrows put behind her. Then she wakes up.

One thing remains, but silent or at least very low.

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April 27, 2021 · 7:34 am

Dubya

“Yeah, sorry we got cut off back there. It’s just the kids –” (reply) “No, first it was this turtle, and then a f-cking witch came out of the ditch.” (reply/reprimand) “Oh… I didn’t know that.” (reply) “Wife, eh?”

“Just get over here,” he barked from the other side of the line. “And expect some kind of spell day before tomorrow’s Tuesday.” (*click*)

The situation was growing worse. Orange now.

—–

The green phone rang. The green phone never rang. He went over and stared at it, wanting it to stop. Green screens flashed all around, as if connected to the rings. It was just that important. Time to calm the hell down.

“Pick it up,” Ballpark Johnson urged from the back windows, staring out at landing passengers, this time with a plane. “It’s the only way to end this.”

Oh I see: a name. “Say my name and I’ll do it,” replied the khaki wearing man beside the phone, smart with book inside him. Anderson County. Now he knows how to build a rock wall a mile long if needed. Which it will.

“*Can*.” Close enough.

“Hello?”

“Pepi?” came the hoarse and raspy voice from the other side, as if beyond the grave.

“Who is this?”

“You – know who. Last time – we met — I was — jovial.”

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March 26, 2021 · 9:57 am

Picklemoon 02

“So you’re ready to move on from this… *Pickle* state. Now that you’ve found a new host. Is that how it works?”

“I suppose so, David.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“I’m sorry.” Pause. “But I did what I had to do to better…”

“… yourself,” David finishes for him.

“I can’t argue.”

David A.B. settles back in his chair, tries to calm himself. Although he is a God he’s prone to errors too. More emotional ones for him rather than intellectual, because of the brilliant, diamond-like brain and all inside his nogg’n, thanks to Mid Hazel. Or thanks to Mid Hazel for allowing him to keep it there. What does she want long-term, though? he ponders once more. It’s a direction he can’t see clearly, which is unusual. He’s asked Jenny to help. She should be here soon. Better wrap it up with this Pickle man dude.

“You better confer with the Ant. I know you hate him but…”

“… he’s a part of me too,” Sandman finishes for David this time. There is no me without we, he knows. Maybe he should have thought this whole host transferring thing out better, but, too late now.

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January 23, 2021 · 10:07 am

classical

She should have never gone into that cave. She was out in the open, the fresh, clean air with the star studded sky spreading out above her, and then she wasn’t. A path, but not leading to clean, fresh water. Dank, dingy, green, algae congested. Atrophied. Some say her life was atrophied when she got hitched to her twin brother Toothpick/Philburg back at the end of photo-novel 22. Only the Free Tilists, with close ties to the Deep South (of Black Ice), would marry them. “Amoral,” cried to Pentagonists, worshipers of all things 5 sided and 5 pointed and originating on Mars. “Blasphemous, a slap in the face of Our Lord God of Heaven,” bemoaned the Trilogists, better known as our Christians. Only the 4-square Tilists would touch it, but only in Catalpa outside the direct influence of the city council who had ultimate judgment in these matters and could expel the couple if the ceremony was held on their grounds. Instead: All Orange, between the wine red apples of Apple’s Orchard and the slick yellow banana symbolically lying at the center of Black Ice, which all revolves around like a Beanstalk or Pope to a helmet wearing monkey (crook) with one upturned and one downturned eyebrow. It was only in All Orange where it could happen. The 5th, but in a good way this time (we hope).

Barry De Boy settled back in the rocking chair with the maple leaf pillow and felt it was good. I have acquired the power of the three now, the scissors to begin, then the paper, then, lastly, rock (in the middle). Rock solid I am. Jeffrie Phillips I am. He he he. He he he he he. Ho ho. Hu. Huh.

“Hi!”

It was Waldrip. Or was it Waldrup. Waldrop? …drep? Anyway, I could feel his presence even if I couldn’t see him. Like a mouse.

He stopped rocking, stood up. “Who goes there?”

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January 9, 2021 · 9:12 am

Marilyn Monroe type

“How are we going to get up *that* thing, Mr. Archer?” Toddles said in her wee, cute voice, so full of hope just moments before. Then they heard the roar and remembered. They’d forgotten for so long. The obstacle.

“How are you with barrels?” Archer returned, thinking of a solution. Toddles would go up first and then lower down a rope or something.

Toddles suddenly had a growing spurt, then another, then another to make 3 total. She was 5’10”. Then three more to reach the needed height to simply pick up tiny Mr. Archer (to her) and set him on top of the reverse falls along with the car, then step up herself via a large rock pictured above.

“Handy you can do that!!” he shouted up when they were back together on another rock.

“WHAT??” she replied from a great height, and then shrank down again.

“I said…!!”.

“No need to shout now, Mr. Archer. I’m right beside you here.

“Please… call me Peet,” he requested, seeing her quick dry herself as well. She had shrunk down three but not the remaining. She remained a pretty big girl. Pretty grown up. “We’ve been through a lot.”

At the “Picturetown 30 miles” sign he wondered if she was ever going to step back down those original three. She was not a toddler. In fact, she offered to drive after Niagara.


entering Picturetown

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December 20, 2020 · 5:11 pm

Sunkland Institute’s Blue Feather

If only they could have brought the ocean all the way up to the docks here and made NWES City a true port, thinks Baker Bloch, staring out at same. Maybe Sammie Parr, Tenty, the rest could have been saved, maybe the Black Ice Market here would still be thriving and providing talky tubes for beloved pets, etc. He sighs, turns.

If Spunky’s also goes that may be it for this side of town. And if one part crumbles then the rest fall as well, all 4 jigsaw pieces. And that means the 5th, orange, Sunklands Institute in effect, will be meaningless too. Might as well move it back to Iris, then; Bella (squirrel) could have proved that.

Speaking of which, I must get to the Blue Feather meeting over there, called specifically because of new developments in Bella, Belle- seri… sare… whatever (think “Bell is serial”, baker b.!).

—–

“So you see,” he says a bit later at the meeting, comprised of himself, Wheeler Wilson, Grassy Noll, Chef-Detective Keat Owens, and Gordie Down (formerly Curled Paper), just like before, “this wheel of avatars found by Bixyl — lemme see (Baker squints at the media feed), looks like Shuftan — occurred just after the completion of photo-novel 22, the one prior to the current one.”

“Hi!” repeats “Winesap” reading, light bulb headed Gordie Down. Baker and the others look at him, jointly wondering if he’s ever going to become a functional member of The Table they all sit around and participate in. Baker also makes a mental note here to get those apples for him as requested by Wheeler.

“Yes, hello once again, Gordie.” Baker decides to try to prod more out of him. “What do *you* think of this circle or wheel, Gordie? Do you think it represents the nodal photo-novels 1-4-7-10-13-16-19-22, like we talked about before? At the time, Wheelhouse (sim) was at the top of the developing continent and Wheeler (sim) at the bottom. This circle was created just over from Wheelhouse. We think it’s All Orange, Gordie (Wheeler and Grassy nod in agreement), but… what about you?”

“Hellooo!”

No success on that front! They’ll try again another night.


Baker discussing the same concept with dummy Chef-Detective Keat Owens in photo-novel 22.

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December 15, 2020 · 7:20 am

Magick Shoppe

“Okay, so it looks like the 6th is not going to show up tonight. Let’s start, then.”

TILE Channeler Olive Oylstick looks around the table, making intense eye contact with each one. She puts the 6th out of her mind, and the 7th, the I, she doesn’t even consider. Violet Dawn (6th), I’m sure, had better things to do. NO — no bitterness. She use to request that they all hold hands, but this is modern times and hands are full of germs and viruses. We do not even shake in this era of post-apocalyptic habits. She senses nervousness. “Everyone stop stirring in their seats,” she requests. “Stillness; the spirits are here tonight. I sense them all around.” Olive closes her eyes. Several others do as well, including Charles Brown to her left, estranged brother of Charlene who knows her deepest, darkest secret and foolishly told it to one of his many chicks one night when drunk on Speckled Hen. That’s why he’s here. Wendy Wilson to his left? The Oracle commanded she be present tonight in the Bellissima sim, often mistaken for one on Bellisseria or Bellisaria or whatever the hell it’s called. See? It could happen to me, and it could happen to you. Sandy Chic (3rd stated member; left of Wendy) is no more to blame that any resident of this here world. The 4th is Rabbit M4, appropriately, to the right of Olive to complete tonight’s “circle” and who has a secret life on the continent but, again by mistake perhaps, often ends up here instead. Maybe he just likes Olive — that could be it. We’ve introduced the characters (except Violet). Now let’s get to the plot.

Olive opens her eyes. “All Orange. There’s someone inside you.” She turns to Wendy Wilson who is actually Wheeler. Wendy admits this.

(to be continued)

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December 13, 2020 · 7:37 am

Hideaway 01

“So since Ally’s here now you can get off a little early, right?” on and off girlfriend Sep says to off and on boyfriend Seb. Sebby Cromac, who really lightened up the place when he was hired several months back. He also has a Rosehaven connection which procured him the job in the first place. More on that soon.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “Ms. Orange is still learning the drinks.” He lowers his voice now; Ally probably couldn’t hear them anyway since she’s shaking the tumbler so hard in mixing that martini for a customer soon to show up. Let’s say he or she’s in the bathroom right this moment. “She doesn’t know as much as I’d hoped with all that experience on her resume,” he continues after leaning in. “Look how long she’s been mixing that drink; and it’s a *martini*,” and with this he points behind his hand toward cheese colored Ally, who doesn’t look atall like what’s in the picture above to either Sep or Seb. In fact, he or she looks different to anyone involved. Oh, here comes the customer. Ally finally stops shaking, pours the drink.

—–

“What do you think?” she asks The Mann, who decides to call himself James for this scene. Fresh from humpback whale watching on the eastern shore of Pickle 02, he explained earlier while placing his order with the pretty, petite blonde. “Interesting,” he presently offers as graciously as possible after sipping, trying not to wince. He decides not to sip again for a while. He is a connoisseur of the liquors and knows an improperly made drink when he drinks it. Maybe he should have given more specifics on its concoction. He makes a mental note to do that at the next bar at the next island in his sea of travels.

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